After Shane arrived at the ranch he sat in the vehicle with just the battery running. Jabbing the button on the dash through the CD tracks, he found the song they'd listened to on the stretch driving to the cliff and reclined his seat, staring at the dark upholstery of the ceiling.

She'd looked so humiliated, and the whole drive home he'd felt enormously guilty. Perhaps, if he were suave or smooth or had an emotional intelligence higher than that of a lizard, he'd have known what to say – to assure her that not only was she desired at that moment, but she'd not left his thoughts during all manner of unspeakable acts for months. But he wasn't smooth, he wasn't smart, and he didn't have his test results back yet. Even if he did, it couldn't be in a vehicle – not with Sophia. The last time he'd done it in a car he'd started a virgin and ended a person who hated himself more than when he'd started.

But shit, if she started kissing him for real, no matter where it was…

The music was warm rolling through him and suddenly he was blinking back tears: strange tears, confusing tears, ones that didn't spring from the usual well of dark isolation in his chest. Furiously he wiped his eyes but it was like the song had wrapped around him, squeezing and pushing those tears to the surface, and as quickly as he wiped them away they were replaced.

It didn't feel real. It couldn't be. Nothing in his life could possibly be this good. A montage flashed through his head, a dozen different blushes and bashful glances, the shy way she'd whispered, "Sure," when he asked her to dinner, and the very different voice she'd used when they parked. He heard that voice over and over, and fuck, it just didn't feel real. Even with the fragility of how he'd left her, humiliated on her doorstep, she'd still whispered those things in his ear, still said the words, "I can't get you out of my mind."

The song ended. Bringing the seat back up, Shane wiped his eyes and brought his head down on the steering wheel – and nearly had a heart attack at the sudden explosion of noise.

The goddamned horn—

Yanking the keys from the ignition as if it was their fault, he wiped his eyes one last time before leaving the truck and slamming the door, heading to the house with his heart thumping like a rabbit's.


On Sunday they didn't speak. On Monday they didn't speak. On Tuesday Shane sat on his bed with the phone in his hand for over thirty minutes, staring at the buttons while voices on the TV rumbled quietly in the background.

He couldn't blame her for not calling. He was the one to stop things. She'd as good as whispered "have sex with me" and he'd shoved her away. She was probably still fucking mortified.

The buttons on the phone stared blankly back at him. Finally he punched in her number, laid back on his pillow, and pressed call.

"Hello?"

Shane swallowed. "Hi."

"Hey."

That was it?

Finally he managed, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." A pause. "You?"

"Just…you haven't called. I didn't know if that was bad."

"It's not bad."

Fuck this – fuck pretending like nothing happened. He closed his eyes and blurted, "Then why is this so weird right now? Are you mad at me? Because I'm really sorry."

There was a longer pause, and when she spoke her voice was both quiet and frail. "You have no reason to be sorry. I – I should've called you first. I was the ass, I'm the one who should be sorry."

"Wait, why are you sorry?"

"Leaving the cliff like that. Getting weird when you said no. And I pushed you – I'm always pushing you. It's not fair to you, and it never brings you closer. I was trying to give you some space the last few days, but fuck, I should've at least called to apologize…"

"I swear, it wasn't you."

"I know." Her voice was still so quiet, as if she didn't have the energy to talk long. "This'll work, okay? But maybe we shouldn't rush it. I just…I keep acting like an idiot, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm okay with going slow."

As good as Sophia made him feel in almost every respect, she'd also acquired the unique power of making him want to bash his head into blunt objects. Currently, his bed frame.

"Does that mean I have to wait until fucking Saturday to see you again?"

Another pause. Since when did she take so many pauses? Not knowing what to say, that was his thing, not hers. Finally she said, "No. But we don't have to decide anything this second. I'm sorry Shane, I'm not very good company right now. Think I just need to sleep on things one more night. But I promise to call you tomorrow, okay? I promise."

And she did. On Wednesday she called, and this time without the quiet, fragile voice, this time just speaking like Sophia, like the previous weekend had been nothing out of the ordinary. She rambled excitedly about their next project – fixing up the abandoned greenhouse, using her summer profits to buy all new paneling and heaters to keep growing berries through the winter. While not as intimate as Shane would've liked it was at least absent of the feeling he'd humiliated her, and when it came time to hang up she said, "Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"I still wear it every night. Just…I want you to know that."


Thursday before supper, Shane received a call from the clinic. Marnie handed him the phone, thankfully without inquiry as to why the doctor was calling, and Shane took it to his room.

"Hello?"

"Shane, it's Dr. Harvey. We received your results back from the lab today. I think you'll be happy to hear that all the tests came back clear."

"Everything?" he said, heart beating fast. "You're positive?"

"I'm positive your test results are negative," said Harvey with a sensible chuckle, and Shane couldn't even hate him for it – for the first time in days, he felt elated. "If you'd like to see the conclusive results you're welcome to swing by the clinic and pick up the paperwork. But otherwise, have a great evening Shane."

"Yeah, thanks. You too."

That night he ate dinner with Marnie and Jas at the table, and after they finished Marnie informed them she was headed to the saloon for an hour or two, her weekly public rendezvous with Lewis apparently pushed up from their usual Friday.

"I don't think I'll be long tonight," she said, grabbing her coat and purse and not quite looking Shane in the eye. "These poor old bones are already half asleep."

Much as he wished Marnie would publicly dump the mayor's ass, he'd made his feelings clear enough already – he had no more power in the matter, and with his happiness renewed in light of Harvey's call, he wasn't about to let Lewis ruin his night. He only nodded as his aunt headed toward the door.

"What do you want to play tonight?" Shane asked, as Jas helped him load the dishwasher.

He was determined to have a real evening with her, one that didn't involve parking her in front of the TV or her toys. Outside of bedtime stories he'd gotten far too comfortable letting her entertain herself; the guilt was starting to weigh again.

Jas's eyes widened. "You'll play with me?"

"Yep. Tonight is your night."

She bit her lip, wheels clearly turning. "I guess we'll play school. I'll be Miss Penny!"

After cleaning up Shane joined her in her room, where she grabbed several stuffed animals off the bed and set them on the floor next to him. "These are the other kids. Today we're going to go on a field trip to the library."

For over an hour he pretended to be one of Miss Penny's students, and after that they took to playing zoo with those same stuffed animals, Shane eventually becoming the main attraction as Jas instructed him to become an elephant, a lion, a seal – he was pretending to be an escaped gorilla and chasing her into the living room when instead of running away, she turned and bolted straight toward him. Flinging her tiny arms around his waist, she looked up with sparkling eyes.

"I love you, Uncle Shane."

He felt almost as stunned as the day she told him she didn't want to die. Realizing with a stab that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd said those words to her – probably before they moved in with Marnie – he looped his arms around her back and whispered, "Love you too, kid."

She gazed up at him. "Can we play dollhouse now?"

"Sure. Go ahead, I'll be right there."

Jas ran off to her room while Shane went to the kitchen to grab a soda, and he was filling a cup with ice when the phone rang again. His heart leapt as he answered; it wouldn't be an odd hour for Sophia to call.

There was a long silence on the other end of the receiver. Then a gruff voice said, "Shane?"

Fear, immediately accompanied by anger: it rose straight to his head where it burned like hot water on icy skin. He checked down the hall to make sure Jas was still in her room, then spoke in almost a whisper. "What the fuck do you want?"

The gruff voice laughed, a cold laugh that turned into a cough halfway. "Evenin' to you too."

"I asked what the fuck you wanted."

"Watch yourself, boy." A pause. "You heard from your mother?"

"What do you think?"

"Just a question. Let's lose the attitude, eh?"

As far as Shane knew Marnie hadn't spoken to her brother in years, not even to tell him his son had moved in with her. He closed his eyes, seeing spots but managing to keep a level voice. "How'd you know I was here?"

The barking laugh was loud enough to blast static through the receiver, and he pulled it back with a flinch.

"Where the hell else were you gonna go? Real slick, by the way, slipping out of the house in the middle of the night like that – you and that bitch of a woman I married got more in common than you think." Another pause. "But c'mon, buddy, I didn't call to piss in your ear."

Shane didn't say anything; the way he called him buddy made his skin crawl.

"Look – your old man's in a tight spot right now, okay? Lost half the rent with you gone, and now we're in danger of losing the house."

We? Who was this we? Surely he couldn't mean Shane.

"So?"

"So?" He heard a snarl, could picture the thick, dry lip curling into the scratchy mustache. "You're a real fucking piece of work, you know that boy? Taking your goddamn grocery store checks with you, leaving your old man high and dry. What the fuck are you good for over there? You fucking owe me."

"I don't owe you shit."

"Put a goddamn roof over your ungrateful ass long after you should have been outta here – "

"Yeah? That's fucking funny, because I seem to recall you begging me to stay. Kind of like you're doing now."

"You –" he started, then cut himself off. When he spoke again, there was a disturbingly sweet note to his voice. "You think you're better than me?" he whispered. " Is that it? You think you're fucking better than me?"

Shane let the silence speak for him.

"Yeah…yeah, you do, don't you? Well don't that just put icing on the fucking cake." His dad laughed. "You and me, boy, we're cut from the same cloth. You know that, right?" He laughed again, and Shane heard a thundering smash, a sound he knew well – a bottle hurled at the wall. When he resumed speaking it was again sugary-sweet, again taunting. "Don't you wanna come home, share a bottle of Jack with your old man? Remember when we used to do that? When I drank half a bottle, and you come along later and steal the fucking rest of it? Had a little fucking golden boy, didn't I?"

Shane's head pulsed with heat. He knew this was all a crock of shit, but he couldn't help it. That voice – that goddamned voice that was hooked through his brain like a permanent fixture, that spoke to him at all hours of the day and night – that goddamned voice got to him.

"Uncle Shane?" Jas sounded near, and a moment later entered the kitchen. "Are you going to come play yet?"

Shit, shit, shit.

He brought the phone down, taking a deep breath. "Hey kid. I'll be there in just a few minutes. Promise."

He watched her skip away, and on the other end of the phone a tongue clucked three times. "Well, if that ain't precious. How's cupcake doing?" His voice lowered, silky and dangerous. "You finally playing daddy, Shane?"

The room blackened in his peripheral vision, head throbbing like a heart lived in his forehead. He could see his dad's face, an older, even less attractive version of his own – the same lips and nose and heavy eyes, and the thought of aging fucking terrified him, having to watch himself transform deeper into the one person he hated more than himself. And it was the last straw, him bringing up Jas, as if he had any right to even think about her—

"'Cause you know just how to do it, don't you?" the voice continued. "Make her somebody else's problem, while you head out for a little pick me up? Deny it all you want, son – your mother left both of us. You're exactly fucking like me."

Barely above a whisper, voice gravelly, Shane hissed, "Go to hell."

"Yeah, that's right Shane, KEEP YOUR FUCKING MONEY you greedy little piece of sh—"

He slammed the phone so hard onto the dock that a line cracked through the plastic.

Leaning against the oak cabinet, he tried to calm everything: his burning face, the pulsing in his head, the spotting in his vision. Living with his dad for so many years must've built a tolerance to the bullshit, while being gone for almost a year had dropped it down to nothing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such resentment.

Well, no, he could. That voice like a wasp, pure sugar one moment and all sting the next, that was the dad Shane knew best. In middle and high school it was the only one he knew, one moment sweet-talking, the next grabbing ashtrays off the coffee table to whip at his son's back, drunkenly rattling off all the ways Shane had ruined his life and shouldn't have been born. But then his mom had gotten sober and his dad had mellowed out – presumably from the combination of more attention and less responsibility that a sober wife brought him – and Shane had almost forgotten how bad he could be. Now, leaning against the cabinet, he remembered: remembered the day his mom left, the utter shit show it'd been, and how he'd grabbed Jas and run before the punches could fly again.

He didn't know how long he stood there, two minutes, ten minutes, maybe longer, but eventually Jas appeared by his side.

"Can I have some apple juice?" she asked, none the wiser to Shane's state.

A task. Good.

"Look," he said, getting a cup and pouring her juice, the line of liquid trembling as he did. "I don't think I can play anymore tonight. I've got a pretty bad headache. Why don't we just watch cartoons until bed?"

"Okay," she said easily.

Then she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and climbed onto it. Shane was about to ask what she was doing when she reached up and placed a small hand on his forehead. "You need a cold washcloth?" she asked. "It'll make your head feel better."

"Thanks kid. But I'll be okay."

He tried to smile at his goddaughter, but as she scrambled off the chair and raced to find a spot on the couch, he paused with his eyes drawn to the cupboard above the fridge for a very long time.


Marnie arrived home at 8:30, yawning.

"You two have a good night?" she asked, smiling at the scene in the living room: Jas curled up asleep on the couch next to Shane, Shane staring blankly at the still-running cartoon. Her voice startled him back to reality.

"Marnie. Put Jas to bed for me."

"O-okay," said Marnie, startled by his abruptness but not questioning it. She set down her things and knelt next to Jas, gently waking her.

The pulsing anger had faded by now but it'd left an emptiness, and in that emptiness grew a darkness that spread through his body like black ink as he sat watching that stupid cartoon. Marnie kept a bottle of spiced rum for an occasional treat, tucked in the cabinet over the fridge; she didn't know Shane knew she had it, and while she was tucking Jas in he grabbed it and took it into his room. He sat for a long time on the edge of his bed with the rum in one hand, the other clutching his knee to keep steady. The arm holding the bottle shook all the way to his fingertips.

He just wanted that voice to shut up. He'd give anything, even his current sobriety, for that voice to just shut the fuck up for good.

Except now there was Sophia.

She'd made him promise to call. Over and over, she'd made him promise. It was so much easier to back then, when he was feeling good and could hear her voice popping the question. In the moment, with his forehead sweaty and the weight of the liquor pulling on both hand and heart, he didn't know if he could. It wasn't even about shame – he was too far gone to feel shame. It was about not being able to resist the darkness inside that fucking bottle.

In a split second decision, he dropped it on the bed. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he left to grab the phone from the kitchen and then returned to his room again, punching her number with clumsy fingers before he could back out. He sat back on the bed, grinding his face into his shoulder as it rang, eyes stinging.

"Hello?" she answered on the third ring.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

"Hello?" she repeated. When there was no response the second time she quickly said, "Code red or code blue? Red meaning you can't stop thinking about it, blue meaning the bottle is in your hand."

He swallowed, and unsure of why he was lying said, "Red."

"Okay. Meet me at the saloon in fifteen minutes, and don't you dare go in until I'm with you."

The saloon? He should have said code blue.

"Shane?" Her voice, all business until now, grew emotional. "Thank you so, so much for calling. I'll see you soon."

Shane picked up the rum again, staring at it in his hand while his whole body ran hot, unable to settle, unable to stop the sensation that he was sinking in quicksand. He wiped his face onto his sleeve again, telling himself to drop it, just drop it,but then it was like someone else's hand twisting the cap off, lifting it to his mouth, tilting it back—

With a hard jerk he yanked it down and threw the whole bottle, shattering it against the wall where it screamed into a thousand particles of liquid and glass on the floor.

Just like dad.

"What the devil—!" Marnie rushed into his room at the noise, seeing her nephew standing before the soaking wall and a circle of broken glass. "Shane? What—"

Shaking, he dropped the phone on the bed. "I'm sorry. I-I'll clean it up. I'll buy you a new one. I – I have to go." He tucked his head and tried to leave, but his aunt blocked his way.

"Shane, what is going—"

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm fucking sorry." Then he pushed past her, grabbing his jacket off the dresser and rushing out the door.


She was already at the saloon, waiting on a bench outside.

Even with everything that had happened tonight, Shane was still painfully aware that the last time he'd seen her, she'd had her lips all over his neck. However, if any of that was on Sophia's mind she was hiding it very well.

"Okay," she said, all business, like during the phone call. "I know what you're thinking – the saloon, right? But you've done it before, so we're going the exposure route, with me right next to you. We'll order pepper poppers and tell Gus to make them as spicy as humanly possible, we'll drink so much soda you'll never want another carbonated beverage for the rest of your life, and I brought these—" she held up a deck of cards, "to keep our hands busy. I want you to really try, but if it gets to be too much and isn't working for you, we can…" She stood, trailing off, her face full of concern. "Shane?"

He couldn't do it. Not the saloon, not tonight. Hands shoved in his pockets, he looked up at the dark sky for several seconds, then said, "Blue."

She stared for only a moment, before flinging her arms around him in the tightest hug he'd ever known. It took him by surprise and at first he stood frozen, but gradually he pulled his hands from his pockets and folded his arms over her, stiffly holding her back.

Shane had had rare hugs from his mother as a kid, usually when she was dangerously high and in such a touchy-feely mood that she'd follow it up with hugging the sofa, the coat rack – anything, really, as long as it stood still long enough. Marnie tried to give him the occasional hug, but it was always very one-sided as he'd never been comfortable returning it. But there was nothing half-hearted about this hug: he could feel Sophia's heartbeat, could smell the warm coconut scent of her hair, and as she hugged him he relaxed and allowed himself to breathe it in.

"Guess it's true," rang a sudden voice.

Sophia jerked back at the sound, breaking apart from the hug.

It was Alex, leaning against the fence in the yard next to the saloon; Shane had forgotten he lived there. He tossed a gridball in the air with one hand, looking both bored and amused.

"What?" said Sophia.

"Girls really do go for the assholes. Didn't know they went for the drunks, though."

Shane's ears immediately began to burn, and for the second time that night he felt a pounding rush to his forehead. And fuck, he wished it was anger this time – should have been anger, a comment like that – but this time the burning was only embarrassment.

Fiery, gut-wrenching embarrassment.

"There's a lot of things you don't know," spat Sophia. "Now fuck off."

Alex shrugged, tossing the ball in the air again and looking amused at the reaction he'd caused. Sophia only grabbed Shane fiercely by the hand, pulling him away.

"Taking a page out of my book now?" he joked, though feeling sick to his stomach. They were past the saloon now and she still hadn't let go of his hand.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" she fumed, walking with a speed to match.

"He's right."

"Fuck him."

"He is. I'm a jerk. I called you tonight because I'm a drunk. He's fucking right."

"I don't care if you spit in his face sideways. You're having a shit night and you don't have to listen to that. I swear, it's like he's twelve years old."

They slowed now, and Shane stared at the ground as they walked. "Don't make excuses for me."

"I'm not —"

"I was even an asshole to you. Lots of times, actually. Fuck, I was rude to you. If I was you, I'd never have talked to me in the first place. That drink you bought me? Would've dumped it over my head."

"Then it's a good thing you're not me." She stopped walking. "Shane, I don't care what happened when we met, because we were strangers then, and the truth is, yeah, you suck with strangers. Horrendously. But you fucking know how I feel now, so don't insult me by pretending I don't know what I got myself into." She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand. "I hope you're ready. We have a long night ahead of us."

"Doing what?" He felt like he couldn't process anything tonight.

She didn't answer. They walked hand-in-hand in silence until arriving at her porch where she said, "Wait here," and went inside. When she returned, she held two steel picks and a backpack.

Shane only stared.

"A lost form of art," she said matter-of-factly. "And a therapeutic one."

"Is – is that a fucking mining pick?"

"Yes." She shoved the relatively small picks in the backpack and zipped it close, handles poking out the top. "There's an abandoned limestone quarry on the other side of town. Grandpa used to work there when he was younger, and he kept all his equipment." She nodded toward the side of the porch, where two bikes were parked. "We can ride those. I found them in the far shed last month – I think Grandpa hid them away after Grandma died."

He blinked at the bikes. "You seriously had this all planned out."

"Of course. How was I supposed to know when you'd call? I had to be prepared."

He felt slightly better already, if only because the whole situation was so bizarre that he couldn't wrap his mind around it.

The bike ride itself was long and therapeutic, winding down country roads so dark he could hardly see, the air cold and the breeze colder. The black silhouettes of pines loomed overhead from either side, and the wind whistled so loudly through his ears it drowned out his thoughts. They pedaled down the roads behind Sophia's house, past the carpenter's house and the road that led to the spa, along the edge of a lake and then crossing a bridge over its gullet. And, awaiting them on the other side of that bridge, the quarry.

Shane had never been this far east of town. The valley was lush and green, while this place was abandoned by all life: bedrock as far as the eye could see, with a dim spotlight shining eerily in the distance.

Sophia dismounted her bike near the edge, and Shane came up behind her to do the same.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's like a different goddamn planet."

"I know." She dropped her bike on the ground. "It's kind of perfect."

The path leading down was steep and she grabbed his hand again before descending, her fingers icy from the ride. Shane loved this new development, Sophia holding his hand everywhere. Once at the bottom they continued through the heart of the quarry, slabs of rock like mountainous stair steps behind them, colossal piles of rubble at their feet. He looked around.

"So what, we just start smashing?"

"Yep."

"Isn't it going to be…er…loud?"

"Nah, it'll be fine. Nobody lives for miles around – we could scream bloody murder down here and no one would know."

"Is that your plan?" He glanced up at the cold, alien landscape around them, at the murky beams from the floodlight. It was the kind of place that felt vaguely like the end of the world.

She sliced her pick several times through the air, making squeaky, horror-movie stabbing noises. Then she smiled. "You ready?"

"I don't know how you come up with this shit."

"Yeah, yeah. Put these on." She pulled out two pairs of protective glasses from the backpack, handing one to him. As he put them on he thought about how, of all the unlikely scenarios he'd found himself in since meeting her, this was easily the most absurd. Then, mere seconds later:

"AUGGHHH!"

Sophia swung her pick at a piece of rubble on the ground, shattering it. Shane stared at her, eyes wide as again and again she swung and shouted, pulverizing the shards at her feet. When she was done she turned to him, breathless, picking up one of the larger pieces and holding it in her palm.

"Make sure it looks like this – all porous and fossilized. Swing at any of the other kinds and you'll feel like you're breaking your fucking spine."

Gripping the handle of his pick, Shane faced a pile of his own rocks and took a deep breath. With every ounce of strength he could muster he swung the nose down, and – with the most satisfying crunch – splintered the limestone in two.

Then he did it again.

It was incredible: the hard contact of chopping lumber, the explosion of breaking china. He swung over and over, smashing everything in his sight, and at his side Sophia did the same. The air was filled with shouts and clanging – you could swing so much harder while shouting – and in the space between the noises he could almost hear the adrenaline rushing through his body.

"Aughhh!"

"AUGHHHH!"

"AUGHHHHHH!"

A sudden violence washed over him, and unlike the chaotic anger from earlier in the evening, the violence was focused – everything he'd ever lost sleep over rushed to the surface, flowing through a single line from his heart to arms to his pick. It started with her, and with each strike he could see her, the reckless woman who'd been three times over the legal limit for driving, her face as clear on the rough stone as it'd been on the news that day; with each swing he smashed that face, broke that face like he'd longed to do three years ago. Despite the freezing air he was sweating, his muscles already sore, but he struck on, almost drunk off the connection of steel and stone. When nothing was left of the first face it morphed into one of his father, and he smashed that too, and then it morphed into one of his own, and that one he smashed hardest of all – and smashed and smashed, over and over, his grip on the pickaxe slipping under newly formed blisters, turning the rock with his face on it to dust.

He paused to take a breath, and when he tried to swing again it was stopped midair; Sophia grabbed his arm.

"That's enough," she said softly, and followed him as he dropped to the ground.


Shane didn't know how long he lay sprawled in the middle of the quarry, exhausted, sore, and unwilling to move. He only knew that Sophia was sprawled next to him, equally exhausted, and that the amount of time passing had never been more insignificant.

"What are you thinking?" she asked at last.

He stared at the sky. "Not about drinking."

"So what are you thinking about?"

He didn't answer. His hands and face were starting to feel numb from the cold. Ever since they'd stopped moving, the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. With a closer look he saw that she was shivering too.

"You ready to get going?" he asked, an idea beginning to form in the back of his mind.

"I can't move, Shane."

"Just get up. It'll be worth it." He stood, offering his hand.

She took it and pulled herself up too, grumbling. "What do you mean it'll be worth it? We still have to ride back in this arctic chill."

Shane shoved the pickaxes into her bag. "I'll get it this time," he said, slipping his arms through the loops.

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly as she stood, still grumbling. "I thought it was summer just a few weeks ago."

"You'll be warmer when we move. Come on."

They trudged back to their bikes, despite the cold begging them to move faster. When they reached the top they stood for a moment, overlooking the quarry where so much emotion had been released. The dim spotlight flickered, a guardian presence over the abandoned dig site, and despite the exhaustion Shane felt like he'd left half his bodyweight down by those rocks.

The wind on the ride home felt far colder than the wind on the way there, and he focused hard as he could on his destination. They crossed the gullet and rode past the lake again, then back past Robin's house, and only after that did Shane veer off course, north toward the bathhouse instead of continuing west to Sophia's.

"What are you doing?" she shouted, voice disappearing into the wind as she rode.

"Trust me," he called over his shoulder, racing toward the darkened building that was already closed for the night.

"Shane," she said, out of breath as they dismounted and dropped their bikes, following him to the doors. "Shane, it's after eleven – Lewis locks it up at eight."

"I need your hairpin," he said.

"What?"

"Your hairpin – I saw one in there earlier. Give it to me."

"You're breaking in?" she said, though tugging at the clip all the same.

"Thought you said you were into petty crime?"

The clouds then parted, revealing the moon for the first time in hours, and in the new light he could see the excitement in her eyes as she handed it over.

He fiddled with the lock and pin briefly and the door creaked open. They entered a small dark room, and Shane carefully locked the door behind them from the inside. Confronted with two new doors, he opened the left one.

"It's eerie, isn't it?" she whispered, holding his arm as they went through. It was difficult to see and their footsteps echoed loudly.

He slowly led her through the maze of the changing room until they reached the pool entrance. Water lapped against the filters, the air smelled strongly of chlorine, and there was a low whirring from the ceiling fans that continued to spin despite the late hour. Clouds of steam hovered over the surface of the pool, white and wispy in the moonlight.

And it was warm.

Sophia was still holding his arm and he leaned toward her. "You want to?"

She looked at him, eyes shining, "Yes. But how?"

His stomach flopped as he realized he hadn't thought that far ahead – last time she'd worn her dress, and he'd already been up to his neck in water when she arrived.

"We could wear our underwear," she said slowly, noting his hesitation. "That's basically a bathing suit anyway. And then after we can put the wet stuff in my bag, just wear our dry clothes home so we don't freeze."

"Okay," said Shane, and all the confidence he'd felt with the idea of coming here and daring Sophia into the pool zoomed speedily away at the prospect of stripping down next to her.

"You go first," she said. "I'll close my eyes."

Shane pulled off his hoodie and t-shirt, then undid his belt. The buckle was far too noisy, echoing in the tiled room and making him self-conscious of the fact that she was listening to him undress. He slipped out of his pants, socks, and shoes and lowered himself into the pool, cold body hissing against the heat.

"Go ahead," he said, fixing his gaze on a square of moonlight in the pool.

There was the sound of a zipper, which Shane tried – and failed – not to imagine her unzipping. After that was relative silence, then some splashing and Sophia saying, "You can look now."

The water covered her chest, but he caught the scoop of her collarbone and two beige bra straps before she dove under, emerging several feet away and paddling backward.

He leaned against the side of the pool, keeping a respectful distance while she played. But after a few seconds she leaned forward and kicked toward him, closing the gap, smiling and half encircling him like a shark. "I'm all warm now."

"Good," he said anxiously.

"How did you know how to do that?" she asked, treading water. "Break in?"

"Had a lot of practice. Breaking into my own house as a kid, when my mom forgot to come home."

"I'm sorry it was all so shitty for you."

He shrugged. "Doesn't bother me anymore."

"Not having an unlocked house to go to as a kid? Living in a bad neighborhood? Yeah, I'm still sorry."

She went back to swimming then, and he went back to watching her. Pushing off with graceful arms, her body spun in a slow cyclone below the surface of the water; she moved just like a fish, at ease and dreamlike. He became aware of how whenever Sophia was around they felt like the only two people alive, always like she had a small world encircling her, that when she got close to Shane she picked him up in her orbit and carried him off to where no one else remained.

After circling the pool several times in her graceful way, she swam to the center and paused in the square of moonlight that rippled on the surface. She smiled shyly, skin illuminated with the same icy glow as the water. "Come here."

He did. At that moment, if she'd said "drown yourself" he would have done it. When he reached her they stood side by side, gazing together at the starry portrait above.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" she whispered.

Shane looked at her, looking up at the sky and his heart pounded.

No, not pretty.

Fucking beautiful.

The hair that framed her face clung to her skin, rivulets of pool water dripping from the strands and rolling slowly down her forehead and cheeks. Not so long ago he'd watched a similar scene, but that one had been from afar. He'd been in her audience, close enough for her performance to stir both his body and emotions, but at the time only a fantasy to touch her. No, he'd gone home to touch himself instead, to dream for two whole minutes that someone like her could exist, that there could be more to his monochrome life than dullness or ache.

But those two minutes had turned into months, and Shane learned that it still ached – it ached so badly to stand beside her in the water when she was so beautiful, when he was so fucking in love with her, knowing he didn't deserve her like this. So maybe she had a crush, but there existed miles of feeling between a crush and love. It would never be fair to ask that she love him in return.

The lightest touch then tickled his hand below the water – Sophia had found his pinky. She hooked hers around it, continuing to stare up through the skylight, not looking at Shane.

Ever since seeing her outside the saloon, her presence had been nothing but soothing. He'd been teetering dangerously from one side to another and she'd stepped in the middle to steady the board. Hugging him, holding his hand…any other time those things would've made him a nervous wreck, but tonight they felt like the most natural things in the world, just a normal, accepted part of whatever this relationship was.

Unhooking their fingers – heart still quietly pounding – he stepped in front of her.

She wanted this. Even if it was a crush and not love she wanted this, she'd told him so, and not just with her words but with her fingers below his collar and her breath in his ear, and oh god, he'd never led a kiss before, never kissed someone he cared about—

She'd been looking up at the stars, but with Shane now in front of her, her gaze dropped onto his, and for a moment the whole world paused.

"Shane," she whispered.

As if she had nothing else to add; as if saying his name softly was the only thing.

Without stopping to think, he took her face in both hands and pressed his lips onto hers.

Freefall.

Oh god.

Freefall.

Like dropping down an elevator shaft; something wonderful and wild was happening in his stomach, and this was from only a touch, just pressing into her, barely moving, just feeling the softness of her mouth…

At long last he pulled back, their lips sticking together slightly.

Sophia's eyes remained closed, at first. When she finally opened them it was like she was adjusting to bright light in a dark room; for a moment she only stared, motionless, face still in his hands.

Then she grabbed his neck and yanked him down again, and Shane's whole body turned to helium.

Between the water and the kiss he felt weightless, and for a long time stood there with her lips moving over his in the most beautiful way. It was Sophia; he was kissing Sophia, who he'd dreamed of kissing all summer long, and if she still wanted this – if she wanted this like she had only a few days ago, it could happen now – there was nothing to get in their way anymore, nothing to stop them—

Except, he realized, not thirty seconds later, there was.

She kissed him hungrily, both hands on his neck and digging into the back of his hair, kissing him with more enthusiasm than he'd ever been kissed with in his life, but the confidence he felt in kissing her back was already gone. A heaviness had descended on his heart, an awful, intrusive weight, and he tried to push it to the back of his head, to just be with her. But it wasn't cooperating; it became too strong to ignore.

He bit his own lip to break the kiss.

"Shane?" she said, strangely cautious – as if she sensed it too.

His eyes were still closed. "You're not just messing with me?"

"Huh?"

"This isn't some prank?"

"A prank?" A long pause. "You're fucking with me, right?"

"You could change your mind," he continued in a weak voice, "regret it tomorrow. I wouldn't blame you."

When he finally opened his eyes, she was staring at him, her expression full of disbelief.

"Shane, you kissed me first!" she cried. "What happened to you? What happened that you can look at this moment and see it as anything other than me being crazy about you?"

Before he could speak she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the bottom of the room. There was a division between the main pool and a smaller, more private pool at its base, and she rounded the bend into the private section. It was shallower, with room to sit along the edge in the water. Despite the entire bathhouse being theirs, the close quarters of this new room were almost too intimate; Shane followed her in taking a seat on the ledge, but sat as still as a statue.

Then Sophia began to do something odd.

She began to smooth him out.

At least, that's what it felt like – like looking in a mirror before leaving the house, making small adjustments. She smoothed back his hair. Her fingers ran down the stubble on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. Hands slid toward his shoulders as if straightening an invisible shirt, then down the length of his arms until reaching his hands. Lifting them out of the water, she traced the blisters that had begun to form from the quarry, and bringing them to her mouth, kissed the spots softly.

In all his life, Shane had never been touched like this. Like he was someone to be explored. Like he meant something. His heart already threatened to burst through his chest when, without warning, Sophia straddled his lap.

No, no, no.

He pleaded for his body to cooperate, but her thighs were touching his now, her lips still gliding over his palms, and it was all too much – he couldn't stop the stirring between his legs. He tried to hide it, to sink lower, but it was impossible; she sat so low and close that his erection nudged her right between her legs, and then the feeling of the first nudge made it twitch and nudge her again. Mortified, he tried to pull away.

"Don't," she whispered, pressing her hips gently back down.

Then she kissed him. Her tongue pried open his lips, slipping between them, and the stiffness he'd been wearing like a straight jacket dissolved. He gave in to the kiss, to her, to the way her body bobbed in the water above him. For a long time their lips moved wetly in silence, then Sophia began to rock on his lap, breathing, "Stay with me tonight," into his open mouth.